


An Impossible Distraction

by marshmallowrollercoaster, Zeema



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowrollercoaster/pseuds/marshmallowrollercoaster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeema/pseuds/Zeema





	An Impossible Distraction

It's amazing to Sherlock how little he seems to need to fall back on his drugs now that he and John are together. Even post case crash comes with he and John sitting across from each other, each reading, Sherlock a trashy mystery to learn more about a suspect's reading proclivities and John the latest issue of BMJ. 

A lovely, light evening. 

Which is all the more reason why Sherlock feels so silly being so nervous. They've had sex. He's seen John many times naked, but he can't keep from imagining it again, today, right now. He keeps looking up to watch John. The soldier keeps steadily flipping through the glossy pages. Sherlock's light blue eyes keep hoping to catch those deep dark ones, and when they never do, they instead quickly become mesmerized by the strength of those masculine hands that can choke a man or tear him limb from limp, can also be so careful and sure. 

His heart is practically pounding. He wants to feel those hands on him. 

His eyes drift downward, towards the soldier's groin, and his breath hitches. Even before he and John slept together Sherlock had made a vow to himself  _not_ to stare too greatly at John Watson's groin, which is and always has been, the man's most distracting asset. 

That's when he notices it. John's breathing has become heavier. 

_Oh._

_Oh._

_Is he thinking what I'm thinking?_

Surely he must be. John is always thinking about sex, the man has the libido of a water-buffalo in rutting season. 

But is he thinking what I really want? 

Sherlock bites his lip concentrating. How to test his theory? 

He presses the tip of his finger right where he just indented his bottom lip from his teeth. Feels the plush give as he gently presses and plumps back up when he releases it. 

 

 

 

After a long week of cases and experiments gone wrong, every muscle in Sherlock's body feels overtaxed, exhausted. Tonight, however, he's going to cook John his favorite dinner. He and John are going to be able to have a quiet dinner together since John himself has had to pull long shifts at surgery. John loves getting back to the life-and-death rush of performing heart surgery, but he knows it can be as tiring for the man as long cases and idiot DI's can be on Sherlock. 

He's got soup nearly complete and tends back and forth between the sauce and the noodles. 

John's leaning against the wall, glass of scotch nearly polished off, watching him stirring the noodles and sauce. Sherlock's wearing his 'undercover jeans', which are delectably tight and he rather likes the effect they have on John. John makes deep sexy grunts every time Sherlock wriggles them inadvertently as he moves. 

Sherlock sighs to himself. He's surprisingly content. He and John have been doing the couple thing for five months now. Not going fast - John has never had a long-term relationship before Mary and doesn't seem keen to jump into another, and Sherlock has never had any type of relationship. He finds he rather likes cooking and bringing John his meals, his drink, his tea. He is just glad John came back to him at 221B. His daydreams come to a gasping halt when he feels a strong arm wrap around his waist from behind...and an obscenely prominent bulge press hard against his ass. 

"Smells delicious." John practically purrs behind him.

Sherlock gasps. "The sauce is my mother's recipe." Sherlock doesn't want to give John the satisfaction that he startled him, he also happens to be the world's finest tease. 

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the sauce." John rumbles, nibbling his way down the back of Sherlock long thin throat, making him squirm and arch his spine, bending his throat to give John more access. 

"Ah. You might...ah, might want to not distract me quite yet, John Watson. Unless you want to eat rubber noodles." Sherlock whines from the hot pressure of John... _right...there..._

“You're one to talk about distractions. Smelling so sweet and wearing those damn tight little jeans, perfectly hugging your pert little ass, Sherlock." John hums. "Did you know you wiggle your ass far more than what's necessary when you cock? It's monumentally distracting.”

"Hyperbole, John." Sherlock giggles, quite enjoying the friction and heat John's creating through between the fabric of John in his trousers and Sherlock's jean-clad ass. His breathing quickens, rising in pitch as it throws into consciousness several of his deeply hidden fantasies, none which have been yet explored as since they started having sex Sherlock has always topped. John has never complained either, though if he has quite often expressed his desire for his term. Not in explicit ways but rather like this. John bluntly telegraphing his intentions as he grinds his massive hardness against Sherlock's firm supple cheeks, prying the apart with an astonishing show of force and hardness given how plump and tightly clenched the skinny detective keeps them. 

John's own hips stutter in desire and he groans loudly when Sherlock arches his back and presses back. 

"Is this you telling me something, Sherlock?" John growls. snapping his hips so hard it drives Sherlock's hips into the counter, pulling a sharp whimper from the younger man. "Because you know all you have to do is give me a sign and I'll take you through it. I've wanted to learn this oh so tight little body since the first time I saw you. That first night we stayed here, that next morning when I saw your of so delectable ass through that red dressing gown of yours I've been half hard and imaging all the ways I want to break you apart."

"Oh God," Sherlock keens. John thrusts all the harder for making the plaintive sound. He can't breathe. There's suddenly not enough oxygen in the world. Gasping and panting wetly he's so close. "John!" He breaths, high and desperate and tosses his head back so his curls ruffle across John's shoulder. John's big hands enclose around his hips and hold him firmly as he ruts and ruts and ruts, like a large beast conquering its doe. 

John can't get enough. Sherlock is utterly delicious like this. Tiny, broken noises spilling from those pink heart shaped lips. He drives his clothed cock harder between luscious asscheeks, harder, harder, harder, Sherlock's cries increasing in pitch and volume, imaging what hedonistic nirvana awaits him if Sherlock were to just allow him to fuck him for once. 

Sherlock's skinny frame freezes as if he's been electrocuted. His spine bowing in a humbly, painfully looking arch. He comes with high pitched sobbing moan and John has never heard anything so erotic, the lovely sound going straight through to his  groin.

He bucks up hard and fast three-four-five more times, holding up Sherlock's shivering limp frame with his hands around his hips. 

The next thing Sherlock knows he's being carried to his bed and being placed gently on the bedspread.   

Still trembling he dares a glance up at John's face and sees the deep lines of his face etched in carnal fervor. Oh no. Looking down he sees the soldier's enormous bulge, looking as though it will break his zipper at any moment. 

"God, John. You didn't come?" He asks, startled. 

John shrugs. 

"No. No, please I want to help. I want..." He struggles to sit up. "I want... "

"What do you want?" John's voice is gruff with lust and need and Sherlock knows he'd do anything for this handsome man who has saved his life so many times he can't even recall. 

"I want what you want, John."

John lowers his voice as he speaks into Sherlock's ear. "You know what I want. What I've been fantasizing about for years. Finding out what your hole will feel around my cock, how you will react when your prostate is touched." 

"God." Sherlock moans. 

"Tell me. Tell me you'll let me have you. You don't know how long I've wanted this. I can't stop picturing you splayed across on my lap so I can see your sweet face as it crumples when you impale yourself onto me for the first time. The agony and ecstasy on your features as I hit that sweet spot with my glans. What it will do to you...how you will break...and how incredible t will feel for me..."

Sherlock whimpers. God, he wants nothing more than exactly that. He clutches onto John's biceps. 

"Yes." He squeaks, barely able to continue giving his consent because it all sounds too hot to process. "I want that."

"Good." John growls. "Because I hate having to surreptitiously touch myself every time I sit across from you imagining it."

John viciously tears off Sherlock's jeans and shirt and presses Sherlock back against the bed, hovering over him, all the while still able to feel Sherlock tremble slightly as he clings to John. It both breaks John's heart and makes his cock ache all the harder. 

He leans over so that Sherlock is once more flat on his back, and attaches his mouth to that tempting neck once more. Sherlock's long lashes flutter closed as his curls fan out across the pillow. 

"Sherlock, I need to be sure you want this." John murmurs, leaning over, his firm hot mouth leaving a trail of kisses up and down Sherlock's oversensitive skin. Sherlock's light blue eyes bloom open. 

"Of course, I want this John. Don't be an idiot." 

"Hmm, bossy I see." In retaliation John bites hard on Sherlock's bottom lip, causing the younger man to yelp, and writhe beneath him. Before he knows what's happening John sinks lower - bites down on Sherlock's delicate collar bone - and further down - and bites one of Sherlock's pink nipples until it turns lush and swollen and peaked and red. By now Sherlock is thrashing, sobbing in needy  pain-pleasure, his lips and nipples all burning with the over-attention John has paid to them.

"Aahh!" Sherlock keens, eyes widening as he watches the soldier lick all the way down his smooth chest and belly and suddenly stop, eyes predatory and dark.

John sits back and looks down at his lover. Sherlock is squirming, lying flat on his back, thighs spread obscenely wide for John to lie between them, looking like the most beautiful debauched angel John has ever seen.

 

 

 

 


End file.
